


Cold to Hot

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Black Lagoon
Genre: BDSM, Character of Color, F/M, Power Play, Roleplay, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-24
Updated: 2010-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:53:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes they play Balalaika's game, sometimes Dutch's. Tonight, he's a prisoner of war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold to Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Contains a few nods to the character's backstories. Total love to [](http://smillaraaq.livejournal.com/profile)[**smillaraaq**](http://smillaraaq.livejournal.com/) for her beta.

Sometimes Dutch wondered what Balalaika's people would think if they saw them together like this. Would it be the blonde beauty taming the savage beast, or the feral black man menacing a delicate Russian jewel?

Hard to say; Dutch had never quite figured out how the Russians saw Americans these days, much less African-Americans. He sure as fuck knew what the folks back home would've thought of them, back in the day, especially if they'd seen that pretty leather collar around her neck. But that'd been _her_ idea.

She wasn't wearing it tonight. Tonight they were playing _his_ game.

"You American dog," she spat in English, her accent harsh and thick. "Your stupid President said no Americans were in Cambodia. So what were you doing in Chantrea, 'Dutch'?"

"I donn't gotta tell you anything, Russkie," he snapped, and braced himself for the inevitable slap. She had a thick ring on her finger; it _hurt._ "Name, rank and serial number, that's it."

"And your mother named you 'Dutch'?" Her mouth twisted in a parody of amusement.

"Sure did. Specialist Dutch Smith, number 33454452. We were shot down over Tan Son Nhut and ended up lost. Damn map was in the chopper."

She leaned down until they were almost nose to nose. "What would you say, 'Dutch,' if I said I didn't believe you?" He spat in her face, and she hit him so hard his teeth jarred. "Wrong answer, Yankee."

Dutch winced.

"You did not get shot down over Tan Son Nhut. You were not _lost._ You were screwing around somewhere you shouldn't have been, and you got caught. So why don't you tell me what's really going on, 'Dutch'?"

He shrugged. "Don't feel like it. Maybe tomorrow."

She grabbed his chin and pulled it up, hard. "Today." Dutch could feel her nails pressing into his chin. "Once I'm through with you."

Dutch was so hard it _hurt,_ the anticipation running fast in his blood, and sometimes he wondered how fucked up they both had to be to get off on this. But hell, it worked. _They_ worked. They knew exactly what each other wanted, exactly how far they could go, and in their world they had the rarest thing of all: something almost like trust. Anybody who had a problem with it could pound sand.

"We have ways of making you dogs talk," Balalaika said, and Dutch swallowed.

"Try me," he said.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Brutal Temperatures [the extremes and deadly ladies remix]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/193203) by [Sour_Idealist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist)




End file.
